Friday, May 15, 2009

"Hunter Gatherers"

I’ve always felt sorry for the Gatherers.

(Which means I imagine that I would have been a Gatherer, being unable to visualize myself in any period of history as a Hunter.)

I’m thinking – without doing any research on the subject – that this wasn’t a hyphenate kind of arrangement – the Hunter-Gatherers. I’m guessing they were two distinct groups of people – the Hunters and the Gatherers. It makes sense that it was that way, the roles being so temperamentally different. Hunters would have a swagger – you’d need a swagger to go head-to-head with the substantially larger animals that Hunters forced to confront on a daily basis, with no more than a long, (often not long enough) pointy stick. Gatherers like to sing.

Hunters would find it beneath their dignity to gather. Gatherers wouldn’t hunt because – let’s put the best possible face on it – they found it barbaric. More likely, they just stunk at it. Not strong enough, faulty reflexes, there may have been vision problems – which once again relegates me to the “Gathering” contingent.

Experience tells us that as soon as two groups appear, almost immediately, there arises some form of hierarchical structuring. Who’s Number One? Who’s Number Two? This may be natural. Based on understood criteria, an order inevitably evolves – one group is first; the other is second, or, there being only two in this particular group, last.

It seems obvious, between the Hunters and the Gatherers, which group would be accorded the loftier status. You can tell just by the labeling. Have you ever heard the phrase, “Gatherer Hunters”? No. Hunters inevitably come first. Hunters are the heroes. Gatherers? You know. You can see them wearing aprons.

Need we explain the disparity in respect? One group risks their lives facing huge animals with tusks and sharp teeth. The other group spends their days picking stuff up off the ground.

I venture to say that the Gatherers represented the “Everybody’s A Winner” concept in the prehistoric era. It doesn’t matter what you do. Everybody gets a prize. This view comes accompanied by the age-old rationalization:

“We can’t all be Hunters. The world needs Gatherers too.”

Such reassurances are invariably delivered by the Gatherers’ mothers. Or, more stingingly, by the Hunters themselves, who, while saying it, were always trying to keep a straight face. These self-worth bromides fooled nobody. There was no comparison in the two roles. And everyone knew it.

Hunters died hunting. The worst that can befall a Gatherer is a chronic “stooping” injury. Once in a while, a Gatherer might mistakenly sample a bad berry and be laid up with a stomachache.

“Oo-ooh! A stomach ache! That’s really serious.”

This was standard “derision material” for Hunters, sporting stumps where limbs used to be but were bitten off by their preys while they were trying to kill them. No arms – tummy trouble. Gimme a break!

Gatherers’ children would come home from school, bullied and beaten by the progeny of Hunters.

“A ‘peach’? I don’t know what that is. But how could I? I’m a Garage Mechanic.”

(This may be the sitcom version of Gatherer family life, but even sitcoms have a kernel of truth in them.)

Gatherer Dads understood the embarrassment their jobs heaped upon their families. “Gathering” was a second-tier profession. You only have to compare the cave drawings. Hunters’ cave walls were adorned with elaborate murals – the intrepid hunter facing the towering mammoth. Gatherers’ murals? A guy, a bush and a basket. Gatherers themselves were embarrassed by the depiction. Company came, they threw a sheet over it.

I don't know, I think the Gatherers have the right idea. I mean berries aren't coming at you with tooth and claw. Plus Gatherers would have been the ones to discover strawberries and figured out how to make wine and champagne. Gotta love imagination!

As a gatherer once said, “Yes, it may be just a guy, a bush and a basket – but it’s still life.”

And off the ground? Sure, we’ll give you that too, but gatherers have been known to also do trees; they just don’t feel the need to brag about it. However I guess this does explain why we go through cycles where every fifth kid is named either Hunter or Lance, but you hardly ever see anybody of either gender named Bowl or Something-I-Think-I-Just-Stepped-In. The garage mechanic save was classic.

Since stimulus packages are all the rage, from the creative process standpoint, I’d be interested in knowing if you can remember what thought or incident might have lead to this particular choice of topic and execution?Subliminally or even liminally.